


Rites of Remembrance

by apfelgranate



Series: Rites Verse [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Galra are synchronous hermaphrodites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Multi, Other, Ritual Sex, service topping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-25 07:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20372947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apfelgranate/pseuds/apfelgranate
Summary: The Galra are far older than the empire, and once the empire falls, they will remain. That is why the Blade of Marmora has kept a tight-knuckled grip on any knowledge of the old ways; among which are rites so old they don’t even have names any more…—Sometimes, it is worth remembering that this is what you fight for: not only the death of a wicked thing, but the new life that comes afterwards. When Kolivan unexpectedly goes into heat as the remains of the Blade of Marmora find their footing, he uses the opportunity to remind his fellow Blades of that fact.Aka, Kolivan gets himself knocked up in the most old magic way possible for spite.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for this year's [galra big bang](https://galrabigbang.tumblr.com/)! I was partnered with [whiteshadesofpale](https://white-shade-of-pale.tumblr.com/) who did an amazing illustration for a scene in this fic, which you can find [here](https://white-shade-of-pale.tumblr.com/post/187263227875/here-we-are-my-piece-for-the-galrabigbang). Go check it out!
> 
> Also shoutout to [inaconstantstateofchange](https://inaconstantstateofchange.tumblr.com/) for a being an incredible last-minute beta and cheerleader.
> 
> CW: There are some vague descriptions of (implied) animal death and butchering of said animals.

Kolivan was in heat. The realization seeped through him like rain towards groundwater, a slow, languid warmth that pooled low in his belly. Although his last heat had been so long ago that it felt like someone else’s life, he recognized the characteristic simmering desire between his legs and the dull ache in his jaw. The uncomfortable, unstable fever-heat that had dogged him in the last days also made more sense now.

It was… unexpected. He had eaten ravenously in the past few weeks to regain some semblance of the reserves that the captivity at the hands of the druid had stripped from him, but he hadn’t thought it enough to trigger his heat. Not yet, at least.

Perhaps the stark contrast between his imprisonment and his current situation was responsible; it could have skewed his body’s sense of what constituted survival conditions. Now, he was fed, as safe as a Blade could ever be, and he was surrounded by other Blades. Before, even when it had been just him and Krolia in that cramped shuttle—

Krolia—

He curled onto his side and bit into the mattress just to feel something between his teeth. It did little to quell the urge to leave a mating mark on someone’s throat, where he could get their scent and blood on his tongue and ensure his womb recognized them. His own neck itched with the thought.

With a groan, he relaxed his jaws and shifted further, getting his knees under him. His face buried in the sheets, he reached between his legs, fingers skimming along his extending shaft to his sheath. Both were slick, and the first touch made him shiver. His mouth opened helplessly.

Not just anyone’s throat. The memory of Krolia’s scent filled his nose, and he gasped. The bolt of hunger that went through him was heady; he knew he could go to her. Right now. No one would stop them. If he wanted, he could cross the base in nothing but his fur and mount her and she would give him her throat and her shaft and she would bloom inside of him until he was with child.

…Ancients, he wanted it.

It was a foolish, reckless thing to contemplate, even as he curled his first two fingers to get his claws out of the way and nudged inside his sheath. They were still at war. Even if his body was of the opinion he could handle a pregnancy, the chances that he’d be able to carry a child to term were slim.

The angle was hell on his wrist, and the hard-edged pressure from his knuckles was a poor imitation of a bloomed shaft, but it made pleasure arc along his spine nonetheless. He mewled and rocked on his hand until his pleasure bled so much slick from his sheath and shaft it stained the sheets.

There was no way he could ride this out in secret. He didn’t want to.

Kolivan sat up and dug his claws into the mattress between his thighs. Trying, and failing, not to imagine Krolia’s sturdy hips beneath him. Calm down. Calm. It took effort, but his heart rate slowed.

He had to think about this sensibly. The last time a Blade had been in heat had been…

Krolia. On earth. And her child—

Cursing quietly, Kolivan tore his thoughts away. Before, what came before that? Ilun, his memories supplied. She’d taken temporary sterilizers and disappeared for a week. Thace had kept himself in a soft heat the way many commanders did when he had been promoted to the rank while undercover, but those were exceptions rather than the rule. Blades didn’t make a habit of living well enough to trigger a heat, much less sustain a pregnancy. And if you wanted to make sure you didn’t get any surprises of the kind Kolivan had woken up to, you stayed on suppressants, the way Antok had.

Except for the first time. Antok had been in heat once, shortly after he had joined the Blade of Marmora. And he had invoked the Rites—

Dangerous memories, those.

Kolivan’s hand found his sex again, broad palm cupping his shaft and the pads of his fingers pressing against his sheath. He could hold out until he got his hands on some sterilizers, then crawl into a nest with Krolia and fuck until neither of them could walk.

He _should_. It was the smartest, safest course of action.

The mere thought of it made his hackles rise.

There was such heat in his belly, and not all of it was lust—anger threaded through the arousal. Low, but seething.

Strangely, not at himself for not seeing this coming. At Zarkon and his witch and his son, at the empire, at the whole mess of the war, for putting him in this position. Where he was surrounded by people who were almost more than kin, with someone he loved and whom he wanted to sire his children, in heat and ready to capitalize on it, but… couldn’t. Poison them for all this agony.

Like a tidal wave, the memories of Antok’s Rites rose from his subconscious, called up by his fury. There had been no escaping the echo of desire that had lived in the halls for days, the gleeful anticipation of the fights that had made them all downright giddy, the eerie connection they’d shared in the aftermath. He remembered Antok’s wide, toothy grin on the first mission afterwards, how he’d felt the shock travel up his own arm when Antok had slammed his fists into a hulking sentry.

Kolivan had never asked the how or why of it, but Antok had carried no children from his Rites.

And still, it had been years until they had lost another life.

What if it could be like that again? Krolia and he had already salvaged more than he ever dared to hope for, they had found alive so many he had feared lost to the druids’ magic: Ulaz and Thace and Ilun and Kalx and Vrek and—

We’re still at war, Kolivan thought.

I don’t care, risen from the depths just like the memories of Antok. And he didn’t. He knew the risks, the foolishness of it, the _look_ Ulaz would give him until he died for indulging in such recklessness after he’d reprimanded Ulaz for it so often, and he didn’t care.

It was no longer just Krolia and him, alone, bruised and bloody, clinging to hope with aching claws, crammed into a dingy old shuttle that by all rights should’ve fallen apart at the seams a long time ago. The Blade of Marmora yet lived, and it had numbers.

He barely heard the sound of the doors to his room swishing open. There was a brief flare of panic, before he remembered that Krolia was the only one besides him who had access. But that meant—

“Kolivan? I’ve—” He heard her mouth snap shut, then the ragged inhale of breath. The slap of her hand slamming the door closed again. A dull thunk.

“I’m awake,” he said. There was a divider that shielded the bed from the door, and kept them hidden from each other’s sight, yet he could not make himself turn around.

“You’re—are you—”

“Yes.” He sucked in a shuddering breath, which was a mistake. He could smell her. It made his mouth water, his gums ache. He tried to ignore what it did to his lower regions. Krolia let out a strangled noise; a keen stifled to sharp breaths.

“I—I should leave.”

“No!” He stumbled from the bed, claws gripping the edge of the divider hard enough to shriek across the metal. “Don’t—go…”

Krolia stood with her back braced against the door. Her muscles were tensed, like a coiled spring. Kolivan saw her eyes go wide as he fell into her field of view; her ears snapped forward, her pupils dilated, her nostrils flared. Too late, he remembered that he was naked.

“_Kolivan_.” It was almost a plea.

His knees trembled at the hunger that welled up in him like a flood in response. They could count themselves lucky they hadn’t spent the night in the same bed—if they had, Kolivan would’ve been sitting on her shaft for hours by now.

“I’m sorry, I—” He dragged his blanket off the bed and wrapped it about his hips, like the fabric could somehow hide his heat-scent, or disguise his arousal. He clung to the edge of the divider.

“A-Antok,” he managed. “Do you remember when he was in heat?”

Krolia slammed her head back into the wall; she groaned through clenched teeth. “_Antok_ didn’t make me want to _beg_ to let me put a kit in his belly when—” she broke off. Her ears twitched, then perked high. “...the Rites?”

Kolivan nodded, not trusting his voice. Her words rang in his ears like drumbeats.

“Are you sure?”

He wasn’t. The desire in him was towering, and it tangled everything it touched. He tried not to hide any of it, which was difficult. The part that was screaming for him to call out to her, to drag her into bed and not let her leave until she’d filled him so much he was dripping with it. The part that howled that no child born of this would survive the war. The part that was furious he had to make this decision at all. The part that was so _hungry_ to see her fight for the right to breed him it was like a gaping maw inside his belly.

For a long time, they looked at each other. Finally, Krolia swallowed visibly.

“If you invoke the Rites,” she said, slowly and with care, “I don’t intend to lose.”

* * *

The memorial didn’t quite deserve the name. In the old base, the base that had been an actual fortified structure and not a retrofitted ship, they would have had a proper hall for the purpose. Now it was just a corner in a storage unit where they had managed to clear enough space to mount the blades of those who had fallen.

Kolivan could have found Antok’s blade blind; he knew the shape of it almost as well as his own. As his claws curled round the handle, he felt the familiar tingle of luxite recognizing itself. It didn’t blossom into its true shape—it never would again, and that thought had grief bleeding bitter into his chest—but it was comforting nonetheless.

He sat down on the small bench they’d dragged into the room and affixed there. He let the blade dance in his hands, watching how its edge caught the light.

Antok hadn’t relied on it as much as most other members of the Blades did, had found more creative uses for his muscle-bound bulk that didn’t require a weapon. But still, he had always wielded it with confidence. The same kind of easy confidence with which he’d announced his Rites…

“Were you sure?” Kolivan whispered into the silence. “Because—I am—” He hesitated—but right now, he was alone with the memories.

“I am terrified. I _want_ it, and yet—it is selfish. Short-sighted. Such a _risk_, both in the short-term and the long-term.”

“Oh, Kolivan.” Antok’s purr filled the room, as if it had always been there. A pressure that was reminiscent of touch and yet nothing like it settled between Kolivan’s shoulder blades. He shivered, gripping Antok’s blade tighter.

“When have we ever been utterly certain of anything?”

Kolivan’s eyes closed. He swayed into Antok’s presence. “We die if there is no certainty.”

“In this, too?” There was a rolling chuckle, and the purr deepened, grew, until Kolivan could feel its tremble within his bones. “Why are you afraid? Krolia will be your mate; who cares if she isn’t sire to your kits as well?”

There was a hot, hungry part of Kolivan that _did_ care—that objected violently to the mere idea. But it was born of his heat: his affection for her forged into something possessive, greedy. Her seed belonged to _him_, it hissed, he need only claim it.

But once his heat passed…

No one would.

But once his heat passed, there would still be war.

“There always is,” said Antok quietly.

“You carried no children from it,” muttered Kolivan. “You would choose differently now?”

“I might. But you’re the one in heat now. I am…”

Dead.

Dead, like so many of them. Kolivan traced the symbol of Marmora on the handle of Antok’s blade with a claw tip. So much death, and here he sat with the possibility of new life in his belly. He and Krolia… they had talked about it. A discussion in hypotheticals that were not quite so hypothetical anymore. A day ago he wouldn’t have been surprised if neither of them ever went into heat again—not after what the druid had done to him, not after what Krolia had spent to reunite the surviving Blades.

But now, he _was_ in heat. If he asked, Krolia would fight for him. And whoever won—

“Uh, boss? I mean, Leader?”

Kolivan’s spine snapped ramrod-straight. Ilun’s broad-shouldered form stood in the doorway, her eyes bright.

“Ilun—”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I had a bit of warning, your smell was coming down the hall.” Despite the calm words, she stood stiffly, arms crossed tightly in front of her torso, instead of with her usual vertical sprawl.

“Is there a reason you’re here instead of fucking Krolia silly?” she asked after a long moment.

“I am not you,” Kolivan said evenly, though it took effort. Ilun laughed abruptly; her head lolled backwards with it, careless, the stretch of her throat wide open. Kolivan’s jaw muscles twitched, clenched, the tension of it reaching down to his sheath. Next to him, Antok let out a deep longing purr.

Kolivan wanted to climb her like a tree, damn the fact that she barely came up to his shoulder.

Her chin came back down and she eyed him sidelong, until he was staring and hadn’t blinked in a while. She came closer, then sat down to straddle the bench next to him, though she took care to keep as much distance between them as the small bench allowed.

“Do you need sterilizers? I’ve got one, two shots still stashed somewhere—probably won’t get you through the whole thing, but should be enough to let you take the edge off.” Her fangs glinted between her lips. “_Do_ you want to take the edge off? Because I could help you out…”

She was tilting towards him, and with a start Kolivan realized he was mirroring her—or she was mirroring him, who could tell now who had started to close the distance. He might have let out a small groan; he could feel her warmth even like this, and she smelled _so_ good…

With an undignified crash, Ilun scrambled backwards and fell off the bench.

“Piss—!” Her voice came out ragged. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Shit, sorry. Sorry. I mean—I do have sterilizers somewhere, and the offer stands? Ancients, just say the word and I’ll—” She cursed again. “…Whatever you want. Just say it.”

Kolivan’s throat worked, but no words came.

His gaze caught on her mouth, on the jagged scar that twisted up from its corner along her cheek. A fellow prisoner had once tried to carve her face open, likely on orders. He remembered how the wound had bled when they’d broken her out, dripping sticky blue. How she’d refused treatment at first on account of time, until Kolivan had argued the bloody trail she was leaving would cause more problems for them in the long run. How not long afterwards, she’d taken a shot meant for his stomach to the shoulder. Her plate scales were still pockmarked and cracked from the injury.

She’d make a worthy sire. The thought burned in his mind, burned right down his spine to settle molten-hot between his thighs.

“I need you to call an assembly. Call everyone. Tell them—just call them.”

“Big plans, huh.” Ilun unfolded herself from the floor. Kolivan bit down on another noise at the sight of the heavy muscles in her shoulders and thighs flexing with the movement.

“See you in a bit, boss.”

She left, and he sighed. Antok’s presence shifted, huge and warm, and covered his hands holding the blade.

“Are you still afraid?”

Kolivan said nothing.

* * *

He did have some adaptive capacities left, Kolivan found as he waited in what served as the main hall. Krolia and Ilun had caught him by surprise, but now he knew what to expect: the heady sharp hunger, the urge to reach out and _touch_ that lived under his skin like an itch.

Vrek slunk inside and perched himself on a crate, knees drawn against his collarbones. He was long-limbed even for Galra, and Kolivan had a distinct memory of those long arms catching him, Regris, even Antok once, to drag them to safety.

Kalx came next, their tail wrapped around their left leg—habit, since a droid’s blaster had perforated the knee cap. They’d managed to get their hands on an artificial joint, but they liked the comfort the tail lent.

Then came Ilun, pulling a rather underdressed and dishevelled Thace after her. Ulaz and Krolia, elbow to shoulder, their faces sharp and watchful.

He felt the wave of desire rise upon seeing them, smelling them, but it was manageable now. It was almost comforting in its predictable warmth; it echoed his affections thoroughly. All those who had died, all who had survived—he knew them down to the bones, knew their scars and the expression on their faces when they’d first had luxite woven into their hearts.

There wasn’t a single one he’d reject as a sire. And not a single one who wouldn’t fight tooth and claw to protect any kit born of the rites.

A furtive, greedy inhale broke the silence.

Kolivan was well aware his scent had changed. As the assembly grew, so spread his scent languidly through the space as they waited for the last members to join. And all the while, eyes grew wider, alert with hunger, backs straightened, chins rose. He remembered the feeling himself, from Antok’s Rites. The scent of someone in a full-blown heat was rare among soldiers, and if you didn’t know it, the way it sunk into your chest and made you want to offer your shaft and throat was dizzying. It made you want to hunt and kill and drag the warm, bleeding thing back to your mate. It made you want to _fight_ for the right to be chosen.

At last Agdaz and Trelleer arrived; now, they were all together.

No one spoke.

Kolivan sat down, knees apart. All eyes in the room followed the motion. Bodies shifted in ways that were almost certainly involuntary for they gave their desire away far too easily. Looking at them was like looking at a banquet, proffered to him to partake of at his pleasure. Heat washed down his spine and made his insides clench; he felt slick between his legs.

On an intellectual level, Kolivan had always known why high-ranking officers of the empire would maintain a soft heat, while suppressants were usually mandatory for regular soldiers. The pheromones triggered protective instincts in those around them who weren’t themselves in heat, increased aggression towards threats, and strengthened existing loyalties.

A straightforward approach to support unit cohesion and hierarchy. Feeling the effects of it from this side was…

If he were to strip down right now and straddle any of their laps with a demand they breed him, he doubted a single one would refuse. The thought was utterly tempting, and terrifying.

“I invoke the Rites,” he said, before his imagination could distract him.

A murmur went through the assembled Blades. A ripple of movement and sound.

“Antok was the last one to invoke the Rites. Not all of you were present then—” He faltered, remembering how _full_ the meeting hall had been when Antok had made his announcement. Grief managed to pierce through the ever-present haze of desire to tighten his throat, though it couldn’t steal his voice for long. “If—if you’re not familiar with the Rites, some of the pertinent records still survive. Ilun, Trelleer and Thace participated, if you’d prefer a firsthand account. There is no obligation on anyone to participate. Though some aspects of logistics will require everyone’s efforts.”

He took a deep breath, allowing himself to close his eyes for a heartbeat. There was silence for a long moment. Then, Kalx’s hoarse voice cut through it.

“What about…” Without turning their head, their tail flickered towards Krolia. The motion was jerky, something that could be claimed accidental.

Like a heat-seeking missile, Kolivan’s gaze found hers on the other side of the room. She stood stock-still, ears motionless, gaze unwavering. It nearly set him into motion. With effort, he remained seated, and cleared his throat.

“Whoever wins in the rites will become my mate, should they wish it. Whether I choose to take other mates has no bearing on the Rites themselves.”

The silence returned for the space between heartbeats, and then drowned as a helpless purr rose from the Blades’ chests. Kalx knelt first, their pale eyes fixed on him, and a wave of movement followed them as the others followed the example.

“We accept the challenge,” they intoned. _We accept the challenge, we accept, we accept_—the intonations echoed in the hall, converging to vibrate along Kolivan’s spine, like lightning to metal. And like thunder, his heart beat in his chest, alight with hunger.

* * *

Ulaz lingered while everyone else filed out to their respective tasks, jostling each other and throwing rather unsubtle glances back at Kolivan.

“You have some concerns, I take it,” Kolivan said once they were alone.

Ulaz’s ears flattened to the side of his head. He seemed stretched-thin, worn out, standing there with his arms tight against his sides. Even his shoulders hunched. His scent was a different story, though Kolivan knew well not to attach any conscious desires to such a thing. Especially now, when his own scent played havoc with everyone else’s perceptions.

Ulaz nodded slightly. “I’m not sure I can participate in good conscience.”

“Because I’m not the person you wish to impregnate, I assume.”

Ulaz let out a small snort, surprise and amusement tripping over each other in his throat.

“No, I—”

Kolivan gave him a flat look.

“…Yes.”

“I expected as much,” Kolivan said, trying for gentle. As much as he had criticised Ulaz’s impulsive actions with regard to Shiro in the beginning, it had brought them Voltron in the end. “But I will need someone to act as my adjutant. If you are willing, I would like for you to take that mantle.”

Ulaz blinked down at him. Kolivan held his gaze and made every effort not to broadcast the disappointment his hindbrain was wallowing in over missing out on Ulaz as a suitor. Then, a low purr escaped Ulaz’s chest, and his head ducked.

“Permission to contact Shi—to contact the Black Paladin?”

“Make sure you use a secure scramble pattern. And coordinate with Kalx for moving the base, I don’t want us to still be here in case someone does trace the transmission back to us.”

* * *

“The problem is, most suitable planets are too far away for us to reach them in time—five standard days, you said?”

“Presumably. That was the duration of my last heat, though my circumstances are rather different, this time.”

Agdaz hummed in thought, and studiously kept her back to Kolivan as she bent over the map interface. “We don’t have too much information on the planets in this sector. There _are_ some that support life, even one which has a similar enough atmosphere to Daibazaal—here, see?” She waved a six-clawed hand to pull the projection up. “Meshan 472N. But it was never strategically important, so there’s no data beyond the basics.”

Kolivan eyed the planet’s hologram. “Basic data should include a cursory overview of animal species. It’s part of the regulations.”

“Yes, but—”

“They’re likely outdated,” Kalx offered from Kolivan’s other side. Agdaz’s short tail flicked back and forth, though she didn’t volunteer any additional comments. Kolivan looked from her tense back to Kalx’s equally tense face.

“Do you fear that you won’t be able to find something worthy to hunt?” he asked. And he hadn’t intended it to sound as challenging as it apparently did—because Agdaz whipped around just as Kalx stepped closer.

“_No_,” they growled simultaneously.

“We _will_ bring you prey,” added Kalx, voice low.

“We’ll bring down a behemoth for you, if that’s what it takes,” added Agdaz.

Kolivan’s throat went dry. Behind his back, he dug his claws into his wrist in an attempt to maintain composure. Agdaz wasn’t as visibly Galra as the others—a half-breed from a frontier colony, one of the few born into the Blades—but his hindbrain didn’t seem to care about that in the slightest.

“Very well,” he said, and thankfully neither of them pressed him on how hoarse he was. “If Meshan 472N is the closest suitable option—set the course.”

* * *

Thace tracked him down shortly afterwards. He’d found some proper clothing in the meantime, and Kolivan refused to be disappointed by that fact. It wasn’t easy.

“Are you… well?” Thace’s tone was calm and his ears alert though otherwise neutral. Too deliberate, too controlled, to be natural. Kolivan gave him a long look, which Thace held unflinchingly.

“As well as can be expected, given the situation.”

“Leader, I—” _Now_ Thace averted his gaze, and Kolivan hated it for all the wrong reasons. The temptation to hook a finger below Thace’s chin, to tilt his head up, perhaps bare his throat—

No. Kolivan forced himself to wait Thace out.

“Have you—are you—” With visible effort, Thace collected himself. “Are you sure about this course of action?”

“As sure as I can be about anything.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know.” A flash of memory darted past Kolivan’s mind, of thick blue dripping from luxite, spreading over the ground in rivulets that swelled to rivers… “Although compared to the rite Krolia performed to reunite us, the risk is laughably negligible.”

“You have a very strange definition of negligible, Leader. We call on these forces we don’t know or understand, we’re exposing ourselves on an unfamiliar planet, and that’s not even getting into what faces us afterwards.”

“I don’t recall you having these misgivings the last time. You _fought_ for Antok.”

Thace’s expression melted into one of desperate grief before he managed to school his features back to neutrality. “Things are different now.”

“They are,” Kolivan said softly. “And I want my family to grow again.”

“The war isn’t over yet. Just because Agdaz managed to survive hidden away out on some miniscule frontier planet where no one cared to look doesn’t mean—”

He near-choked himself to silence.

“Do we not protect our own?” Kolivan asked sharply. There was a familiar hollow anger growing in the pit of his stomach. He’d last felt it standing over a druid that had tried to stab Krolia; it was a cold, wrathful thing ready to slaughter anyone who dared lay hands on the people he considered kin. It was a worryingly strong reaction, and he thanked the stars it didn’t direct itself at Thace.

“Of course we do,” whispered Thace. “Ancients, you _know_ I’d suffer the druids all over again to protect you, or any of the others.”

The anger left Kolivan as quickly as it had come. He suppressed a shiver and bent his head.

“I know,” he said. “I know. Forgive me for implying otherwise.”

Thace’s throat worked.

“There’s no need—I am—” He dragged one hand across his face, sighing. “I am simply worried. You must know how eager we—they all are. We won’t have anyone to act as guard besides me—”

“Do you not intend to participate in the Rites?” Kolivan interrupted him, baffled.

Thace startled, eyes wide. “I—” He swallowed, ears dipping low. “I didn't expect you would want me there.”

“Why in the world wouldn't I?”

“Because—” Thace broke off; his hand fisted into the fabric atop his belly and a pained, poorly stifled chirp left his chest. “Because you want _children_.”

Kolivan knew what the scars on Thace’s belly looked like. How deep they ran. He knew what the druids had sought to and succeeded in destroying—Thace would never go into heat again, or carry children of his own. The chance that he could still sire kits was slim at best. But even though Thace was _right_—Kolivan wanted children, and he was willing to walk over the empire’s corpse to have them—his desire for the Blades, for them to be _one_ again as they had been in the aftermath of Antok’s Rites, well eclipsed it.

Kolivan caught Thace’s hand, threaded their fingers together, and pressed their combined warmth to Thace's belly. Before Thace had a chance to pull away, Kolivan carefully buried his face in the crook of Thace’s neck to let him feel his purr.

“I want every last one of you,” he whispered.

A full-bodied shudder coursed through Thace, and in its wake rose a deep, trembling noise.

“Do you understand?”

“I do,” Thace said, very quietly. “I do.”

They stood like that, pressed up against one another, for a long time.

* * *

Touching someone else became inadvisable.

It had taken every last scrap of Kolivan’s willpower to disentangle himself from Thace. Putting his mouth and teeth in such close proximity to Thace’s throat—he should’ve known it was a spectacularly bad idea. Kolivan’s gums and jaw still ached with the urge to bite him.

Trelleer bumped against him as they passed each other in a narrow corridor, and both of them froze instantly. He managed to not drape himself all over their form, but it was a near thing.

He tasked Vrek with programming some of the drones the ship still carried as guard drones, and had to excuse himself embarrassingly quickly because Vrek’s bony arm brushed against his as they were handling the equipment.

Ilun didn’t even have to touch him to send him running—leaving, in as dignified a manner as possible—but then, she could be very inviting when she wanted to be. And now, all her instincts would be telling her to turn up the charm as high as it could go. Privately, Kolivan thought it was rather high, even if it was easy to forget it in the face of her usual callous manner. He suspected even Keith had taken her up on an… invitation, once or twice.

Then there was Agdaz, who seemed to have taken it upon herself to ensure he received enough sustenance. He eyed the platefuls she had near shoved at him, then gave her an amused look.

“I’m not pregnant, yet.”

Her mouth turned down; she reached out to take back one of the plates—and Kolivan, like the fool he was, grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“It’s fine,” he rasped. “I _am_ hungry.”

Agdaz looked ready to vault across the table. In the end, Kalx saved them both by summoning her over the intercom, and Kolivan’s palm only tingled with the warmth of contact for an hour.

When Ulaz finally got back to him and agreed to be his adjutant for the rites, Kolivan sagged into him with a bone-deep sigh of relief. Ulaz stiffened briefly, but quickly folded Kolivan into his arms.

“I’m dying of thirst in the middle of a river,” Kolivan muttered. He rested his face in the crook of Ulaz’s neck—dangerous and tempting, but the knowledge of Ulaz’s consent only to the adjutancy tempered it, thankfully. Still…

“Don’t let me bite you.”

“I won’t,” Ulaz said quietly, and held him.

* * *

There were… gifts.

Kolivan hadn’t thought it long enough for this particular behavior to manifest itself, but perhaps they were all more desperate for some scrap of peace than he had assumed. Including himself, he admitted silently as he lifted the blanket which had been meticulously folded and placed in front of his door, and pressed it to his face. Krolia’s soft scent filled his nose and had warmth spreading from his chest down into his belly. And further…

It wasn’t the only one, and Kolivan decided to peruse them in the privacy of his room, lest he get lost in it and end up doing something rather unprofessional right out in the open. Not that the Rites themselves wouldn’t be the very definition of that…

He had to smile at the thought, an almost giddy, recalcitrant arousal sparking between his legs. Ancients, he _was_ losing himself in this—but rather the Rites than despair and grief.

The new blankets made the beginning of a decent nest, and Kolivan hesitated only briefly before stripping down and burrowing into them. The smells of the other Blades surrounded him, warmth and familiarity, tangled up with a sweet spike of lust. He buried his face into the softness, inhaled the delicious mix of scents, and slipped his hands between his legs.

He doubted he’d have to acknowledge his acceptance of the offerings—their smell on him would convey that message louder than words ever could. And the others would carry his scent in return soon enough…

* * *

“How are you holding up?”

Kolivan couldn’t quite stifle the frustrated growl that climbed from his throat in response, and Thace chuckled ruefully. He stayed out of arm's’ reach, which, considering Kolivan’s height, was quite far. The main hall was empty apart from them, and Kolivan couldn’t decide if he was grateful for it. No one else to tempt him, but also no one to distract him from Thace’s earnest concern.

“I’m fine,” he said finally. Thace gave him a look that meant he clearly didn’t believe him, but didn’t pursue the question.

“Did Krolia—” Thace sighed. “No, I expect she wouldn’t have. She likely had little reason to hold back during her last heat.”

“_Thace_. Make your point.” Kolivan had to admit he enjoyed the way Thace instantly sprang to attention, ears folding with embarrassment; even his scent sweetened. Kolivan tried not to breathe too deeply.

“I’m quite familiar with being… hungry,” Thace said, with only the briefest hesitation. “When I made commander, they at first miscalculated the dosage required for me to maintain a soft heat. In case you would like advice on how to deal with it? Since it will still take some time until we can perform the Rites. Leader.”

“…How hungry were you?” Kolivan asked. Thace subtly arched his neck, which didn’t help Kolivan’s attempts to ignore how good he smelled.

“I sprained my wrist within an hour.” Thace cracked a small smile, ears rising. “The knuckle trick works well, but not for very long.”

Kolivan huffed. “I noticed. All right, what is your advice?”

Thace let out a small, involuntary noise, and Kolivan almost regretted asking.

Almost.

* * *

Impatience coiled in Kolivan’s belly. At last it made him too jittery to keep ignoring it, so he stalked through the ship towards the bridge. Kalx was dozing in front of the navigation console, and startled awake in a flutter of limbs with Kolivan’s approach.

It was a rather adorable sight, and Kolivan immediately admonished himself for the thought—not exactly professional to apply such a term to a fellow sibling-in-arms—though it was persistent.

“I assume we’re still on track?”

“Yes! That is—” Kalx pulled up a hologram of the programmed course, lips moving. “Yes. Heading GM-7068.”

“You… weren’t sure?”

“I was! I was. Just—” Kalx shot him an unusually shy look. “You make me nervous, at the moment.”

Kolivan rubbed at his jaw, instead of doing the approximately five other things he wanted to be doing in that moment. It always ached. “I don’t mean to,” he said softly.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

They stood in almost-companionable silence for a while, watching the stars drift by.

Something touched the inside of Kolivan’s leg, then gently curled around his ankle. A glance downward confirmed it to be Kalx’s tail, which was now skimming upwards at about knee height, seemingly of its own volition.

“Kalx,” Kolivan said, keeping his voice level with effort.

“Leader?” They looked to him with confusion, followed his gaze down, and squeaked. With the speed of a whip their tail snapped away, wrapping firmly around their own shin.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—” Whatever remained of that sentence was swallowed down, and Kolivan heard only the telltale bitten-down exhale of cursing. Kalx avoided his gaze, fiddling with the navigation controls, but their embarrassment and arousal were broadcast plain as day, and Kolivan was too high-strung to pretend he didn’t notice. He leaned into their space, careful to avoid any actual contact.

“You are impatient,” he murmured, and Kalx shivered.

“My patience is nearing its end, too,” Kolivan added quietly.

“Are you—are you suggesting I forego safety protocols for the sake of speed?”

“No. But within acceptable limits…” Kolivan watched with fierce interest as the little crest of fur along Kalx’s nape rose to stand on end. His jaw ached. “Get us there as fast as you can justify.”

Kalx glanced at him, and their voice dropped even further.

“I will.”

* * *

In retrospect, it was a minor miracle he had managed to avoid Krolia for this long. It hadn’t been a conscious effort on his part—more likely his subconscious had been actively trying to seek her out—which led him to suspect Krolia had devoted considerable thought to keeping them apart.

Kolivan was grateful for it. Adaptation or not, seeing her as she left the medbay, how she saw him in turn and smiled helplessly, had wanton greed roll through him like a storm.

“Kolivan,” she said, a quiet acknowledgement that belied the badly-shuttered delight on her face.

He meant to call her name the same way; to not give voice to the urgent hunger he truly felt. But somewhere between his brain and his mouth the signal was hopelessly scrambled, and he barely stopped himself from advancing on her until they were touching from toes to collarbones.

“You’re—” He swallowed, and tried again. “Did you receive your medical check?”

“Yes.” She held out one arm to show a small patch of shaved fur, a miniscule pinprick mark at its center where Ulaz had collected a sample.

“Ulaz keeps complaining that the equipment’s ancient and insufficient,” she said. “But he cleared me. All ready to—to go.” She cleared her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Don’t go _now_, Kolivan told himself with all the stoic sternness he could muster; it wasn’t much.

He wanted to touch her. Wanted to curl his fingers into the fur at the nape of her neck, tug her close, bend down to let her give him one of those human kisses she was so fond of… and then push her against the wall and ride her until they'd made a mess of themselves and the floor.

No, touching was absolutely out of the question.

"I love you," he said instead, because he had to do _something_ with the swell of affection in his chest.

Krolia let out a high, choked noise.

"You can't—" She gave him a pleading look. "Kolivan, you can't _say_ that to me right now."

He frowned. "Of course I can? 'Restrictions upon a person's speech are temporarily dismissed when they are in heat.'"

Krolia blinked.

"It's an old legal clause; the imperial designation is paragraph 11-32-20, I believe. It was never officially removed."

Krolia blinked again.

"Admittedly, I paraphrased. The full text is a lot lengthier, limitations in case of treason and such. We can dig through the remaining archives for it, but I doubt it survived."

"That's not what I—" She pressed her lips together, looking up at him with mirth in her eyes.

"I love you, too."

Oh.

Oh, blood of Ancients.

“I… I see your point,” Kolivan managed, strained.

Krolia giggled, and it sent another hot spike into his chest. He adored that sound; it was a sharp giddy burst, muffled at first, then louder in jagged stages. Like she had to remember how it worked. There had been decades where he hadn’t heard it at all.

“I’ll just,” she said, “leave. Things to see to. Not here.”

“That would be wise, yes.”

After she had gone, Kolivan pushed his jaw and mouth into his broad hand, like the pressure could relieve the itch to bite, kiss, nuzzle, which lived there like a specter. He needed distraction, badly.

* * *

Ulaz was looking increasingly harried, but the medical tests seemed to be proceeding well. Kolivan told himself that checking up on their progress was simply a matter of being a responsible leader and not a desperate attempt at distraction, and he almost believed it.

“Everyone is fine,” Ulaz said, sitting with his back to Kolivan and bent over Vrek’s stretched-out form. Vrek’s feet hung over the edge of the cot. “Or, I’ve cobbled together a short-term immunisation protocol for anyone who isn’t. But I haven’t found anything serious so far.”

“Pentax or Ontax?” asked Kolivan. “For the protocol.”

“Ontax, of a sort. Like I said, cobbled—”

“I was under the impression Pentax was—”

“Yes, but I don’t have the resources for Pentax.” Ulaz shot him a glance from worn-out eyes, and it hooked somewhere between Kolivan’s ribs and thighs to reel him forward. He stopped himself from reaching out and touching the nape of Ulaz’s neck the way he wanted to; Ulaz shivered anyway.

“You're doing well,” Kolivan murmured. His gaze swung to Vrek, whose throat fur was gradually puffing up. Vrek pushed it down again with small sharp movements, but it helped little. It took a few moments for Kolivan's brain to parse the sight, but then…

Preening.

Vrek was preening for him.

Subconsciously, and quite flustered by it, if the way his ears folded down were anything to go by.

Oh, no.

“Leader. Vrek.” Ulaz’s voice was sharp. “At least _one_ of you needs to calm down and stop exuding scent cues. You’re making my work a lot more difficult than it already is.”

Kolivan could admit when distraction failed and turned to temptation.

He beat a swift retreat to his rooms; although the sight of his blanket nest did little to calm him down. He had tried to not give in to his ever-present arousal as much as it urged him to, but perhaps fighting fire with fire was in this case a valid strategy. Not that he would risk telling Thace right now, but at least his advice had been rather helpful when Kolivan had chosen to follow it.

* * *

A day later Kolivan was ready to climb the walls in frustration. Masturbation held its appeal, and it was pleasant enough—a vast understatement, if he was honest with himself—but he couldn’t sink his brain into it the way he could sink into a head-high stack of reports. Or, if he did, it only led to him contemplating all the ways he could be experiencing this pleasure with another person in very close proximity. Or several persons. All persons currently aboard the ship, to be precise.

He crawled from his blanket nest and dragged himself into the shower. Part of him wanted to just throw all consideration to the wind and let everyone else deal with the same heady arousal that plagued him, but he managed to force it down. Cleaning himself wouldn’t get rid of his heat scent, but at least he wouldn’t be smelling like he had spent the last day engaged with… himself.

Unfortunately there wasn’t much else to do. His own medical check-up was long finished, the guard drones were functioning as intended, clothing and gear had been prepared before he’d even been able to get involved, and if he visited Kalx again to check on their progress he might distract them enough to bring the ship off course. Thace had holed up in the archive, meaning that any mental distraction involving physical records was off the table, just like all other public areas, which held a not-insignificant risk of running into someone he was desperate to fuck.

He could spar, but—

Still steaming from the shower, Kolivan curled two claws to open the intercom.

“Clear the training deck.”

It wasn’t particularly considerate of anyone else who might try to blow off steam via physical exercise, but Kolivan was close to past caring. He dressed in his basic suit, fetched his weapons, and left his rooms.

* * *

He was still rusty.

He _knew_ he was. Being tortured and imprisoned for years was bound to affect one’s martial abilities, but the reminder stung regardless. With a frustrated sigh, he put away his second sword, then took up position again.

He moved into the forms slowly, forcing himself to take his time. The blade hummed in his hand, sleeping, familiar and yet distant—he had lost something, it felt like. Lost things, lost people. So many people it still felt as though he would bleed out from the grief over it if he allowed himself.

No.

Never again.

That seething anger coiled in his gut, threaded with his heat. He guided his sword into a series of slashes, throwing his weight into each blow. Wherever the emperors’ spirits remained now, they could choke on dust and dirt. Zarkon, Lotor, the witch, and all they’d wrought—it hadn’t killed him, and it hadn’t killed the Blades. It wouldn’t stop them now.

Old and sacred things waited in Kolivan’s belly, and they would build something new from it. New lives, new homes, new peace.

In his hand, at his hip, his swords awoke. The luxite in his blood and bones sang in answer.

Kolivan gasped; his lungs, chest, filled with things too big to name. Muscle memory came to him at last, and he brought his sword close to his torso. He twisted the handle in his grip and let the blade dance along his chest and over his shoulder, switched hands; down his side and over his thighs the sword glided.

The trick was not to cut yourself, even as the blade’s edge rasped along your skin. These forms weren’t meant for combat: they were exercises meant to merge one’s blade into the perception of one’s body. He moved across the deck, motions growing more fluid with every serpentine coil of the sword over and around his body. His speed increased in jolts and he had to slow himself down again to keep the pace but the thrill of it grew nonetheless, the exhilaration of exercise transforming into dance. He remembered mastering this when he had been younger—far, far younger—how they had challenged each other to dance the blade on someone else, how much skill and trust it had taken to master _that_. He remembered the expression on Krolia’s face when they had finally managed to surmount that challenge together—

His sword clattered across the floor.

Kolivan let out a deep breath. Concentrate—_concentrate_.

He picked it up again, pulled his second sword from its sheath, closed his eyes, and kept moving.

He was panting by the time he realized he was no longer alone: there was noise behind him. Noise that didn’t originate with him, nor the ship. Kolivan’s heartbeat stuttered; he slowed but did not still. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught sight of the Blades’ dark suits as he turned. There were—

Counting them was an impossibility. Did it matter? They were here, they were watching him, they were _his_—

With a leap, he switched to combat forms. He whirled and jumped and twisted, lashing out at imaginary opponents. He couldn’t slow down now, even as his precision was deteriorating. Couldn’t give his brain time to consider who had come to watch him and why, what their expressions would hold, how easy it would be to draw them into a spar that wouldn’t stay a spar for long.

At last his swords went flying from his grasp, his careless speed catching up to him. He rolled and skidded to a stop, gasping for breath. His back was to the entrance and his watchful audience. Sweat caught in his fur, his skin tingled with phantom sensation. He couldn’t see his swords, they must have landed behind his current position—and he couldn’t turn around. If he did…

“You may have the training deck now,” he rasped as he stood, “should you require it. Although next time, I will be less lenient about such a disregard for my orders.”

Heavy silence reigned for a moment, then: “Apologies, Leader.”

_Krolia_.

A hot-cold shiver raced down Kolivan’s spine and his fist clenched on nothing. Ancients, he couldn’t do this, he needed to—he needed—

Without another word, he stalked off to the communal showers. It wasn’t ideal; once he was done he would still have to face her and everyone else again to leave the training deck, but it would give him time to find some semblance of calm. And the privacy to collapse into a heap against the wall beneath the shower spray and grind into his palm until he came and came and came.

* * *

Someone had collected his swords, and along with one of his wrap tunics, placed them just inside the entrance to the showers. Ignoring the lump this caused in his throat, Kolivan quietly slipped the weapons into their sheaths. He spent an undue amount of time wrapping the tunic above his suit, tugging and fussing with it until it was likely more rumpled than if he had donned it quickly.

He risked a glance into the hall of the training deck. Several of the Blades were sparring, hand-to-hand.

Miraculously, they hadn’t noticed him yet. Furtively watching further, Kolivan realized why—they were too occupied with one another. Trelleer and Ilun were practically play-fighting, laughing and batting at each other as they rolled across the floor. Although the laughter was a little too breathless and throaty to result from the kit-like joy of fighting. A low yell drew his attention to Krolia and Agdaz, who were trying to hip-toss each other but kept wriggling out of each other’s grip, until Krolia managed to slide below Agdaz’s center of gravity. They fell and rolled into Vrek, who had Thace in a leglock. The four of them landed in a heap, and Kolivan saw all too clearly how many unnecessary touches they exchanged as they disentangled themselves. Krolia launched herself at Thace with a grin, while Vrek caught Agdaz with his long legs before she could even stand. Not that she seemed to mind—she fell into him, long-fingered hands reaching for his throat with something that was almost gentleness.

Kolivan swallowed, shivery and envious. It was so _easy_ for them…

Trelleer noticed him first, and the air in the room changed. The playfulness drained from them and Ilun, their movements turned sharp and efficient, though they still touched each other with abandon. It spread to the others quickly. Not-quite-surprised glances were thrown his way; then the gazes turned hungry and expectant—was he watching them? Did he see how strong they were, how skilled, how beautiful?

They were showing off for him, and despite himself, Kolivan felt warm satisfaction drip from his throat to his belly. They _should_ be trying to impress him. Under any other circumstances he would have admonished them for it, but he _had_ invoked the Rites. He could hardly blame them for giving in to the call.

Krolia tried to catch his eye and stumbled. Thace used her distraction to grab and topple her. They went down noisily, and Thace clamped his thighs on either side of Krolia’s hips to pin her down, catching one of her wrists in the process. She snarled at him, bucking her hips to dislodge him. He froze, grasp going limp. It allowed her to pull him down sideways and roll up on her knees. She hauled off for a strike—

…that never came. Thace’s legs were still curled around her hips, his groin snug atop hers.

Heat slithered down Kolivan’s spine at the sight. The urge to crawl into the middle of that fight that was no longer a fight burned bright at his center. He should leave—_leave_, and pretend that arousal wasn’t a choking fog all around them. Regardless of how ridiculous and unreasonable the notion was.

“Be careful,” he called instead, his voice coming out like sandpaper. “There will be plenty of opportunity to demonstrate your prowess later; don’t injure yourself prematurely.”

Both Thace’s and Krolia’s eyes snapped to him, gold and purple. Their chests were heaving.

“We won’t,” Krolia rasped. She shoved at Thace’s knees, and he released her with a gasp, clambering to his feet as soon as she climbed out from between his legs. Kolivan stifled a sigh—disappointment and relief at once.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand this.

How much longer any of them could stand this.


	2. Chapter 2

“We’re close enough for scanning,” Kalx announced.

“_Finally_,” whooped Ilun. “Ready to get your ass kicked, Krolia?”

Kolivan couldn’t see her but he could imagine her wide toothy grin well enough. The playful disdain in Krolia’s face as she answered, “What makes you think no one would gang up on the winner of the last bout?”

Stifled laughter rose and died. The scanner beeped through its routine, excited whispers danced through the air. Kolivan stood apart from the other Blades, in front of the observation windows while everyone else crowded around Kalx up on the dais for the navigation controls, but it didn’t feel like it. Their giddy anticipation, their breathless attention on him felt like curling up in the blanket nest he’d built—swathed in warmth and familiarity, affection and desire.

Below, the planet loomed. Golden and blue seas, red earth… It was reminiscent of Daibazaal, in a way that evoked a strange sort of nostalgia for a home on which he’d never even set foot.

His cheeks ached. He was smiling, he realized. They were _so close…_

Footsteps. Ulaz’s scent washed over Kolivan with his approach.

“The scan shows no anomalies. Animal life signs, but no civilization in our target area.” He took up position at Kolivan’s shoulder. “What are your orders, Leader?”

Kolivan exhaled deeply.

“Trelleer, Vrek, bring the guard drones online. Ulaz, fetch your med kit and meet me at the hangar. Everyone else, get your gear and supplies—" A flurry of motion broke out, and Kolivan met Kalx's eyes from across the bridge. "Kalx… take us down.”

* * *

Antok’s blade gleamed in the light. Kolivan didn’t reach out to touch it—he didn’t need to, not now.

“Are you having second thoughts?” rumbled Antok from behind him, huge and intangible.

“No,” breathed Kolivan. He buried his face in his hands, inhaling sharply. “No. I’ve never been so hungry in my _life_.”

He felt Antok move—not the warmth of his body, but a presence that was as hard to pin down as light—to lean over him. Felt the memory of a wide mouth skim his ears, just as he felt the ground beneath his feet shake as the ship finished its descent.

“Go,” Antok whispered. “Go and _feast_.”

* * *

The red earth was surprisingly soft beneath Kolivan’s bare feet. It gave way to patches of flowering grass; occasionally the grasses would eject a cloud of pollen that danced in the light of the planet’s sun. They had chosen a large glade as the site for the Rites, surrounded by forested vegetation that was teeming with animal life signs. It was a good hunting ground.

A river ran nearby as well, and Ulaz had sent Kalx to test its water, before bodily maneuvering Kolivan so the two of them stood apart from the remaining Blades. He helped peel Kolivan out of his suit, for which Kolivan was more grateful than he wanted to admit; he had been trembling since they stepped off of the ship. With suit and tunic put aside, it was time for the ceremonial robe. A name that was rather grandstanding, considering the reality of the garment: it held no special ornamentation; they had made it from old uniform fabric, and it would likely be unusable once the Rites came to an end.

Kolivan kept his gaze locked firmly on Ulaz’s—thankfully covered—collarbones during the proceedings. The robe was billowing and wide open, hiding nothing; several hisses of indrawn breaths broke the tense silence of the preparations. He didn’t want to risk catching anyone’s eye and deciding to topple all their plans at the last second. Apart from Ulaz, the rest of the Blades weren’t much more dressed than Kolivan: belt and pants and weapons; their torsos bare. The sight of all that beautiful fur and muscle might strain his self-control beyond the breaking point.

“Don’t worry,” Ulaz said quietly as he folded the robe in front of Kolivan’s belly, “I won’t let you jump anyone prematurely.”

Kolivan fisted one hand into the robe to hold it closed, the other atop Ulaz’s shoulder, and didn’t grow weak in the knees at the small noise this pulled from Ulaz. “Thank you. Although I suspect you wouldn’t be able to stop me if I truly tried.”

Ulaz leaned in, knocking his forehead against Kolivan’s. “Then hold on. Just for a little while longer.”

Kolivan nodded silently, then rested his face against Ulaz’s shoulder with a shuddering sigh. Through half-lidded eyes, he saw the others: Kalx returned with the water testing kit, signing an affirmation as they approached. Ilun and Agdaz sat on the ground, back-to-back, leaning into each other. Krolia paced, throwing her knife from hand to hand. Thace paced, too, though his sword was belted to his thigh, and his arms were crossed tightly in front of his chest. Trelleer and Vrek were in the process of setting up the last of the guard drones at the perimeter.

Almost…

Krolia caught Thace by the belt. Kolivan was too far away to hear the words, could see only the way Thace’s eyes widened, the way his expression almost crumbled before softening. He allowed Krolia to tug him close and loosen his belt; she tied it again, lower this time, about his hips at the height everyone else wore it. Scars that had previously been hidden by fabric peeked out between tufts of fur.

Kolivan turned his face into Ulaz’s chest, a hot lump in his throat.

“Tell me we’re ready.”

“You don’t wish to know the exact results of the water test Kalx performed?” There was a hint of a smirk in Ulaz’s voice, and it shivered like sparks along Kolivan’s spine the way everything else did at the moment.

“No,” he hissed. “I wish to mount every last one of you. _Are we ready?_”

Ulaz shuddered. Kolivan felt his hand move—signing the question to the others, most likely—then Ulaz stepped behind his shoulder.

“We’re ready. Kolivan.”

He looked up. His suitors had gathered in a half-circle around him and Ulaz; all of them tense like spring coils. He saw their scars, their eager eyes, their heaving chests, a mirror to all his wounds and love and lust. It was time. He just had to open his mouth…

“I have invoked the Rites,” Kolivan called out. His voice echoed, even though it shouldn’t have. “You have accepted. Now show me that you are hunters! Show me that you can feed my hunger!”

Without a word, they turned and sprinted for the forest. Kolivan’s heart thundered in his chest with the beat of their feet against the ground. He sagged back against Ulaz, who caught him readily.

“Ancients,” Ulaz breathed, his shaky voice at odds with how securely he held Kolivan’s weight. “What did you—”

“It’s the Rites,” Kolivan whispered. He felt it, just like the last time: the hunt was on, and it threaded into his veins. The tension of stalking prey, the bloodlust, the stir of something old and never quite forgotten.

_Hunt for me, kill for me, bring me flesh that’s still warm and bleeding…_

* * *

Trelleer returned first, carrying something with long, thin legs and ears across their broad shoulders. The scent of blood rolled gently through the glade as they took up their old position in the half-circle, and splayed the animal out, showing where its throat had been cut with one clean swipe.

Kolivan’s mouth watered. “Touch me,” he growled, curling one hand around the nape of Ulaz’s neck. “Touch me, before I do it myself.”

Ulaz obliged with a low growl of his own, tugging Kolivan against his body. His hand slid between Kolivan’s thighs, and Kolivan’s knees nearly gave out. It was the first touch in far too long that wasn’t simply his own hand, and it set his skin alight. Ulaz kept touching him, teasing him, while suitor after suitor returned. Ilun brought a snake-like creature, looking like her sword had never even left its place at her hips. Thace brought several kills; small lanky prey animals whose fur was patterned incredibly well for camouflage. Krolia carried a similar animal to Trelleer’s kill, though hers was larger, and horned. By the time Vrek returned, a scaled and spiky creature in his grasp, the insides of Kolivan’s thighs were sopping wet.

Kalx and Agdaz returned last, dragging a ludicrously large, furred animal behind them. There were claw gashes on both their upper arms, dripping blood. Pride and worry and lust tangled in a writhing ball in Kolivan’s belly at the sight.

“Tell them to treat their wounds,” he whispered to Ulaz. There was only one reason why his suitors should be actively bleeding, and it was because he had decided to mark them as his mate. Anything else felt like an affront, though he wasn’t quite sure against what.

Signs were exchanged, and Thace hurried to help patch up Agdaz and Kalx.

“Now?” Ulaz asked, carefully curling his fingers around Kolivan’s shaft. Kolivan gasped wordlessly and shoved into the touch. Ulaz squeezed him, one finger still rubbing into his sheath, and Kolivan came with his head thrown back on Ulaz’s shoulder. His shaft flared and bloomed under the hot pressure of Ulaz’s hand, his insides clamping down on Ulaz’s finger. He rode the first wave of it out, purring from deep within his chest.

The entire glade seemed to fill with the noise—everyone else was purring right along with him. It was a hum like a ship’s engine, deep and reverberating.

“Can you stand?” Ulaz murmured into his neck. Kolivan’s ears twitched.

“Yes.” It was even true—although he trembled, although pleasure and lust seemed a haze around him, he stood firm, his gaze clear.

Ulaz took up position at Kolivan’s side, and Kolivan folded his arms behind his back.

“You may present your kills,” Ulaz announced. Krolia was already moving. She heaved her kill down at Kolivan’s feet and knelt, looking up at him with fire behind her eyes.

“These are the spoils of my hunt,” she said, voice low and rough. “I gift them to you.” She was streaked with dirt and blood, sweat already matting down her hair, burrs and sticky seedpods stuck to her fur, and she was so beautiful it stole Kolivan’s air.

"Does this kill satisfy you?" Ulaz intoned.

"It does," said Kolivan, unable to avert his eyes from Krolia's burning gaze. She could have thrown a bug at his feet and it would have been enough.

He heard more than saw Ulaz dig his claws into the wound of the animal. Ulaz’s other hand, warm and sticky with entirely different fluids, skimmed past Kolivan’s shaft and dipped into his sheath. Ulaz turned, and wet warmth pressed to Kolivan’s belly, a streak of reddish purple blood. Krolia let out a thin breath as Ulaz smeared Kolivan’s slick across her collarbones, marking her as well.

The others crowded close, jostling to offer their kill next. Kolivan gave his affirmation quicker and quicker, barely giving Ulaz time to speak the question—it didn’t matter, Ulaz adapted.

“A behemoth, as promised.” Agdaz smiled, bloody tusks on full display. Kalx stood next to her, their tail twining around both their and Agdaz’s leg.

“_Yes_,” Kolivan breathed, dizzy.

“Your kill has been found satisfactory,” said Ulaz.

Finally, there was no one left who wasn’t covered with either slick or blood, or, in Ulaz’s case, both. One after another, the Blades jammed their swords into the earth, forming a circle around their hunting spoils.

Kolivan walked into the center of the glade, Ulaz at his shoulders, away from the mountain of collected kills. Once all was said and done, they’d all be hungry enough to gnaw them down to the bones. His suitors followed him like shadows.

He looked down at himself, at the red-purple painting his belly had become. Antok had been covered with blood from knees to collarbones, he remembered. Could it have felt any headier than it did for him, now? Their hunts were promised to him, their kills, every slash of the blade and every strike of a fist. Every hungry touch, every gasped breath, every drop of pleasure.

His shaft and sheath ached.

His heart, even more.

“You have proven—” His voice broke in the trembling silence. He turned, gazing upon them all.

“You—” It was too much—but Ulaz was there, and his warmth molded to Kolivan’s side, strong and steadying. Kolivan closed his eyes, and let the Rites speak:

“Fight for me,” he breathed. “Fight well.”

Noise erupted, bodies colliding against one another.

“Vrek you piece-of-shit _traitor—_”

Ilun kicked out against Vrek and Kalx who had both thrown themselves at her. The three of them rolled, tumbled, and she managed to pin Vrek to the ground with a hand around his throat, grinning fiercely, before Kalx dragged her off again. Another slam, and it snagged Kolivan’s attention like a slingshot. Krolia and Thace had locked limbs, but almost immediately disengaged to deflect Agdaz’s attack.

The fight was in turns fluid, sharp, constantly in whirling motion—they knew each other’s tricks, habits, had fought side-by-side for so long most of them had lost count. For what felt like eons, no one could gain the upper hand for more than a heartbeat.

And then Ilun managed to trap Vrek in a blood choke until he passed out, and it snowballed. Trelleer yielded to Kalx, who had jammed their claws right up against Trelleer’s arteries, just shy of breaking skin. Agdaz nearly bit through Kalx’s hand before they gave in; her mouth and tusks came away dripping blue. Ulaz slipped from Kolivan’s side then, beckoning Kalx to him.

Kolivan let him. His breath was too thin to speak, his blood rushing in his veins—and he was not alone.

“Oh, I remember this,” breathed Regris. The phantom sensation of a tail caressed the inside of Kolivan’s calf.

“Magnificent, all of them,” purred Antok.

The voices were everywhere and might not even have passed his ears, Kolivan couldn’t tell. But it mattered not. They were here, they _all_ were here, and the luxite that connected them sang with euphoria—the swords gleamed and hummed, wide awake despite not being held by their owners. Kolivan could feel that song down to his bones.

Thace brought down Agdaz with sheer dogged momentum, catching her off-balance. Krolia broke at least one of Ilun’s ribs with a vicious punch, and Ilun doubled over, wheezing in pain. She spat surrender only as Krolia hauled off for a repeat.

And suddenly, only Krolia and Thace remained standing.

Thace sank down on one knee.

No—

No, this wasn’t how—

“Get up!” Krolia’s snarl cut through the din like a knife. She was trembling, fists clenched at her sides. “_Get. Up._”

Thace stayed down, watching her.

“You don’t get to forfeit!” Krolia snapped, and her voice cracked. “Get up, and I will _make_ youyield!”

Slowly, dream-like, Thace’s head turned and he faced Kolivan, his eyes luminous and sad in a way Kolivan hadn’t thought possible to see in this moment.

No, Kolivan thought desperately. I _want_ you. I want all of you.

Fight for me.

_Fight_.

Thace’s eyes widened; his ears rose. With a pained grunt, he pushed himself to his feet again.

Krolia visibly sagged with relief—all of them did. The tension changed, grew tight and sharp, as she and Thace began to circle each other.

Like a thunderclap, they crashed into each other. Thace aimed for her nose with his elbow, and skidded past her mouth instead. Krolia in turn tried to ram her knee into his stomach but Thace bent into it and grabbed her leg, upending them both. They barely stopped. It was as awful to watch as it was mesmerising—both of them were exhausted and wounded, their movements growing sloppy.

Another sluggish punch that nonetheless sent Krolia into a spin—she’d lost her balance, Kolivan thought, until she grabbed the back of Thace’s shoulder and used the momentum to drag him with her, kicking his legs out from under him. They fell with a heavy thud, and Krolia scrambled to keep a grip on Thace’s arm, twisting it back from his shoulder as she hung over his back. She wasn’t heavy enough to keep him down with body weight alone, but his legs were trembling, and she dug her claws into his throat to keep him from twisting around and freeing his other arm.

“Yield,” Krolia hissed. Blood trickled from her split lip to drip down onto Thace’s temple, catching in his fur. Thace let out a wordless snarl and tried to throw her off, but all it accomplished was wrenching the arm she had in her grasp. He keened, his legs giving out under him, and Krolia held tighter.

“Yield or I swear on the stars I’ll break your arm—”

“I yield,” Thace gasped, “I yield, I yield—”

The earth seemed to move beneath Kolivan’s feet. The air felt charged, like a lightning storm was coming. The sky was washed dark but cloudless, stars beginning to scatter across its inky expanse.

“There it is,” murmured Antok.

As if through water, Kolivan watched Krolia release Thace, how he dropped to the ground, then rolled onto his back with visible effort. Krolia swayed above him, a reed in the wind. Thace touched the inside of her knee, her thigh, his mouth moved—her head lifted, her eyes met Kolivan’s.

Oh, there it was.

A lightning strike, trapped at the base of Kolivan’s spine. He moved without thinking. At the same time, Krolia took one staggering step towards him after another; her hands tore blindly at her belt.

“Kolivan—_Kolivan._” Her voice was in tatters. He cupped her face in his hands, pressed his face against hers from forehead to the tip of their noses.

“Will you give me everything I want?”

“Yes. Ancients, _yes_—”

Krolia crumbled, and Kolivan followed her down. She sprawled messily, trousers caught at her knees; he straddled her hips; her extending shaft poked against the entrance of his sheath. 

“Do it,” she panted, her neck arching, “do it, I’ll give you everything, blood pleasure seed—”

Kolvian sank his teeth into the sturdy meat on the side of her neck and curled his hips down. Her shaft slid into him like a spill of water down a parched throat.

_Finally_.

Pleasure knocked the air from him. Her shaft flared nigh instantly; he could feel the ridges drag inside his sheath. Her blood was on his tongue—

Her blood was on his tongue, her shaft was in him, and the lightning trapped at the base of his spine released. Kolivan shuddered, quaked with it; his climax flowed and ebbed and left him floating on the haze of pleasure that came with a bloom. His shaft was trapped between their bellies, slick and leaking. She’d be a mess by the time he was sated; they’d both be.

He licked at the mark he’d left, tasted sweat and copper. It sent another violent shiver through him, and he clutched at her shoulders; she clutched at his waist.

“Krolia, Krolia—” He nuzzled her, the mating mark, the point of her pulse, her cheek, whispering hoarse affection. “My love. My mate.”

She let out a wounded noise and came. The bloom of her shaft filled him like it had been molded for it.

Warmth washed through him. Heat. His lungs were too small, he could barely breathe.

Give me everything I want.

Blood, pleasure, seed. Blood, pleasure, seed, bloodpleasureseed—

Kolivan tried to steady himself on her sternum, to ride her through it, to claim everything she could offer up. He got as far as resting his hand over the long scar that crossed her chest, and found he refused to lose even a fraction of contact. Her heartbeat drummed against his palm, its throb seemed to travel up through his veins—it was the same.

The same dizzy, frantic frequency, perfectly aligned.

“Do you—” He dragged her hand from his waist to his own chest, held it close, squeezed between their ribs.

“I feel it,” she gasped. “I feel _you_.”

Her spine arched, she moved inside him. Kolivan’s eyes fell shut and he saw stars—and still, when he opened them again. Galaxies wheeled overhead, like a time lapse simulation of the universe had been projected into the sky. Stars were born and died. The sky bled blue and light until it swallowed the forest around them, the grass and earth beneath them.

Was—was this right?

“I don’t know,” sighed Antok’s voice, and Kolivan felt his smile against the nape of his neck. “But it is good.”

There were shapes drifting into focus, among the universe folded around them. Lanky, familiar shapes, born from dust and light. Antok’s tall, broad frame joined them, the slender slink of Regris by his side. Drel, and their split tail. Zyrsi, Julnat, Malagg, Dhulku, Nedda, Chor…

He must have sobbed, because Krolia’s hand found the nape of his neck and tangled into his braid.

“Do you see them?”

“Yes.” He quivered. “I watched them die.”

“Not now.” It wasn’t her voice, even though her chest rose and fell with the exhalation. It was hundreds. Thousands.

“Not now, Kolivan. Right now, we’re alive.”

Krolia cradled him close, shifting her hips to please him. Spoke so softly he barely heard it above the pounding of his blood. “Go on. Let me give you everything.”

His mouth opened helplessly. He could still taste copper.

You already have, he wanted to say.

He wanted to say, Never stop.

In the end, he said her name. They moved together, chasing his pleasure, her bloomed shaft drawing sparks against his blossomed insides; her claws drew gentle patterns on his back and shoulders, tensing when her own pleasure crested.

What felt like an eternity later, Krolia mewled as her shaft shrank and retreated. Kolivan felt wet and open and hungry. Ravenous. He was trembling, though not with exhaustion—a heavy, contented purr lived deep within his chest. Krolia gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes; she was smiling, dazed and happy. She must feel it, he thought; her hands still curled over his thighs.

"You're not yet satisfied, are you?" she asked. Kolivan rubbed his nose against hers.

"No." He didn’t want this to end. Not yet. Just a little more…

Her head lolled around; he followed her gaze to find Thace watching them. In the blackness of the universe that still wrapped Kolivan’s world, stars burst to life, throwing golden light to flicker across Thace’s fur.

Kolivan almost chuckled and reluctantly climbed to his feet, loathe to stop touching Krolia. She stretched lazily, purring. As closely entwined as they had been, the blood from Kolivan’s belly had smeared all over his shaft and onto her belly. In turn, her spend began to seep from him, trailing down the inside of his thigh. He gave her a long, soft look, warmth filling his chest.

He _could_ be satisfied with this.

But he didn’t have to be.

Krolia’s knuckles nudged the inside of his ankle, gentle against the scar tissue there, and he turned toward Thace. On his staggering approach, Thace looked at him like a cornered animal would, wide-eyed and tense. But before Kolivan could decide to slow down, Thace let out a helpless chirp, legs falling open.

Kolivan stepped to stand astride Thace’s hips, opened his mouth to ask; wordlessly, Thace fumbled his trousers down just far enough to bare himself, and raised his hips in offering.

With a smile, Kolivan sank down. Thace arched, claws digging into the ground, as Kolivan reached between them to guide Thace’s shaft into his dripping sheath. It had a different curve to it than Krolia’s, but it fit just as smoothly, yielding to the shape of Kolivan’s insides.

“Thace,” Kolivan breathed, hoarse with lust. “Thace, touch me.”

The first caress came gingerly, a hand upon his thigh. Kolivan purred, deep and gravel-rough, pushing into it, and Thace came alive beneath him. His hands were light and restless, touches flowing along Kolivan’s body like water. He moved sinuously, hips rolling to meet Kolivan’s, giving him pressure and friction and molten heat. Pleasure, offered up heedlessly.

Kolivan came easily, air sweet and sharp in his lungs as he gasped. His claws dug into Thace’s chest with it, pressed into Thace’s milk line on one side and druid-born scars on the other.

After the crest had passed, Kolivan reached out to curl one hand below Thace’s jaw, fingers carding through his fur.

“You fought well.”

Thace sobbed, face turning into the touch.

“You did,” Kolivan whispered. He leaned in and rubbed their noses together. “You’ve never let me down. You never let any of us down.”

“Kolivan, don’t—” Thace broke off with a whimper, and Kolivan felt him bloom. He held himself still, even though everything in him screamed to milk every last drop of pleasure from Thace. His heart thudded in his chest—in both their chests. Like war drums, finding the same rhythm.

“I’m sorry,” Thace breathed. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” Kolivan soothed, and his voice came bouncing back hundredfold, echoed by the darkness and starlight whirling around them. “I told you—I want all of you.”

Thace blinked at him, eyes wet. Understanding had never been the problem, Kolivan realized—believing it was. He opened his mouth and dragged his tongue along the line of Thace’s throat, teeth skimming skin. The urge to bite down had abated, but the hunger for touch, for intimacy and pleasure, was as fierce as ever.

_I want all of you._

“Oh,” whispered Thace, voice small and raw. “Stardust.” He grasped at the bow of Kolivan’s ribs, at his waist.

“Please—”

“Please what?”

“Whatever you want, please, it’s yours.”

A delicate little shiver worked its way down between Kolivan’s shoulder blades. He rolled his hips against Thace’s until that shiver reached the base of his spine and blossomed like a starburst.

He lifted off of Thace, though his hands were slow to leave, and cast his gaze around the glade that had become an abyss. He saw the others, watching him with wide, bright eyes. Waiting for him.

Kolivan moved.

_Oh, I want—_

Agdaz’s back was scraped up from when Thace had thrown her to the ground, and she sat on her knees, Kalx resting against her side.

Kolivan folded himself down between her splayed thighs to nuzzle her—which she returned, thrumming with eagerness—and grabbed Kalx’s tail before they could decide to be shy again.

“Lead—Kolivan—” Kalx ducked their head, and Kolivan released his grip. Kalx’s tail immediately curled around his wrist, while Agdaz nosed below his ears.

“You hunted together,” Kolivan said.

“Was that… was that against the rules?” Kalx murmured.

“No. You hunted together, for _me_. ” He shrugged the ceremonial robe off of one shoulder; it fell to bare his back. “Show me what else you can do together.”

Agdaz pulled at his hips to slot him against her front, purring deeply. Their shafts slid against each other while Kalx pressed to his back, their shaft slipping between his thighs to drag along the entrance of his sheath. And then Kalx’s tail slithered around his waist to wrap around his shaft and Kolivan’s head fell back with a moan.

He reached behind himself to grab the back of Kalx’s thigh, his other arm curled around Agdaz’s neck; he pulled them both in close. It drew twin noises from them. Sweet, rough sounds.

Whether it was the Rites or mere familiarity, Kalx and Agdaz soon moved in tandem, following the wave of Kolivan’s body. Their heartbeats fluttered against his ribs and spine, and his heat squirmed in his belly like a serpent basking in the sun as they stoked his pleasure to a crashing peak.

_—all of you—_

“Careful, boss,” Ilun murmured, holding her ribs. “Don’t be too rough with me.”

“There’s a sentence I never expected to hear from you.”

The scar on her face curled with a wide grin. “I didn’t mean, make me _wait_.” She let go of her ribs and curled her fingers behind his knees. Kolivan let himself smile in return, and let her guide him down into her lap. They both groaned as he settled on her shaft; a groan that quickly morphed into a purr.

Ilun wrapped her arms around him and drew him close and bent her head to nip at his milk line. The gentle sting sent a frisson cascading down Kolivan’s body; it startled a breath from his lungs. He managed to give her a curious look.

“Krolia might have mentioned something, a long time ago.” She leered, unrepentant. Kolivan growled and grabbed the back of her head and knocked his forehead against hers.

“Then put that knowledge to good use.”

_—I want, I want—_

Trelleer stopped him from sinking down with a hand delicately sliding up his inner thigh that came to rest against his groin. Kolivan blinked.

“Do you not wish to—”

“I do,” said Trelleer, voice husky. “I do, I _do_. But…” They let their jaw drop open, let their tongue fold out—and out, and out. As much as Trelleer looked like pureblood Galra, somewhere in their lineage hid something strange. Something with a long, ribbed, bright orange tongue.

Kolivan swallowed a curse; he swayed forward. Trelleer grinned, fangs glinting on either side of their lolling tongue, and grabbed the back of Kolivan’s thighs to close the distance.

He was wet and sensitive from Agdaz’s and Kalx’s attentions, and Trelleer’s tongue was hot, flexible, and strong. It curled into him, and Kolivan’s knees trembled. Then the purr started, and his knees gave out.

Trelleer caught him, or at least managed to slow their collective descent, so they didn’t quite crash to the ground. Kolivan bent over with a mewl, claws digging gouges into the pitch black earth. Stars welled up between his fingers, the universe crumpling in his grasp. And still there was Trelleer’s tongue: a molten, squirming thing inside him that found every nook from which pleasure could be coaxed.

He gasped, breathless, as he came once more. Trelleer took the rolling motion of his hips easily, broad hands guiding him onto their tongue.

“You are—you’re still trying to impress me, aren’t you?” Kolivan muttered, after the waves of his climax had gentled.

Trelleer chirped wistfully and licked the inside of his thigh. “How can I not?”

Kolivan laughed, face warm with dizzy bloodflush. He reached behind him, tracing the tips of his claws along Trelleer’s leaking shaft. Their hips jumped at the touch, a whimper leapt from their throat.

“Impress me some more, hm?”

_—every last—_

Vrek was wordless and noisy, and he met Kolivan halfway, embracing him as soon as Kolivan snarled his hunger. They stumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and Kolivan ended up straddling Vrek’s thigh instead of his lap. A few moments of writhing later, Kolivan claimed Vrek’s shaft, and Vrek trembled everywhere.

“I want everything,” Kolivan said. He felt like he was _made_ of wanting.

Yes, Vrek signed, drawing the shape over Kolivan’s heart. Yes, please. Please. Please.

And then Vrek hooked one of his legs over Kolivan’s shoulder to hold him close, something Kolivan had done to Krolia often enough to know its ruinous effect. It worked just as well on him, now, even though he was the one mounting Vrek. His insides blossomed, Vrek’s shaft bloomed to meet him, and lightning danced in Kolivan’s veins.

_—one of you._

* * *

The horned animal’s hide succumbed easily to Ulaz’s sword. He dug with claws and blade, cutting and tearing, until his lower arms dripped blood. And dripped and dripped and dripped, until the star-studded black of the universe was eaten up by its color.

Kolivan shivered, feeling hot and cold at once, and starving. Krolia pressed herself more closely to his side, arms curling around his waist. Her heartbeat pulsed against his ribs, and Kolivan leant into her like an anchor. The other suitors sprawled in a circle around them, similarly curled up with one another, as they all watched Ulaz bring luxite to bear on flesh and bone.

Soon, Ulaz approached, bearing a sizable chunk of meat in his hands. He knelt before Kolivan to present it.

“For the invoker.”

This close, the scent was mouth-watering. Any thought Kolivan might have had previously as to whether this animal would be safe for them to eat fled instantly.

It didn’t matter. It was meat, it was still warm and bleeding, and he was so, so_ hungry…_

He tore into it with relish. Warmth spilled into his belly, soothing the ache of hunger. He ate until he was not quite ravenous anymore, then handed what remained back to Ulaz, who shifted slightly towards Krolia.

“For the chosen.”

Krolia fell on it just as hungrily as Kolivan had, devouring it with a few bites. She wiped at her mouth when she was done, though it did little more than smear the blood. With difficulty, Kolivan tore his gaze away to face Ulaz again.

“You have invoked the Rites. You have chosen a mate and claimed your dues,” Ulaz intoned.

“Are you satisfied?”

Kolivan glanced at Krolia, at her split lip, the bruises dotting her cheek and arms, the smears of dirt and blood and slick—the smoldering warmth in her expression. He saw arrayed behind her, surrounding them, the rest of his kin in bodies made from flesh and bones, in bodies wrought from starlight.

They were all here, they were watching him, and they were his.

“Yes,” Kolivan said.

It happened slowly, quietly. Ulaz’s hand dropped, and he stood again. Ilun and Thace rose to join him, moving towards their hunting spoils. Agdaz draped herself across Vrek’s lap and he dug for salves in Ulaz’s medical kit.

Sunlight spilled from the sky again, painting beams of golden red through the air. The darkness between stars retreated until it was once more where it belonged—up in the sky instead of flowing like water around Kolivan.

He and Krolia sagged into each other.

“Kolivan, I…”

He nuzzled the top of her head. “I know.”

_Love_ felt like too small a word for what filled his chest.

“Are you still hungry?”

Krolia’s stomach growled in reply. He chuckled, helpless in the face of his affection. Its smile bit deep into his cheeks.

“Was that… actually safe to eat?” Trelleer asked carefully, when Ulaz, Ilun and Thace returned with further cuts of meat.

Ulaz nodded. “I had more than enough time to have a look at it while you were… otherwise occupied.”

“Thank the Ancients, I’m _starving_.”

Cackling laughter rose. How are _you_ still hungry? Vrek signed, expression incredulous. Trelleer shoved him, their ears low with embarrassment but smiling.

They ate and ate. It had been a long time since any of them had had fresh meat. Kolivan had been eating generously before his heat, but rations were still rations. Until it happened, he scarcely believed he could ever feel too full to eat more, but at some point his hunger for actual food was sated.

Krolia was warm and heavy in his arms, her chest rising and falling with easy breaths. Here, and alive.

“That was…”

“Fun?” he suggested dryly. She laughed and kissed the edge of his jaw, then gave his braid a playful tug.

“I can call you ‘mate’, now.”

“Indeed you may.”

Teeth skimmed his jaw, her hot breath hitting his skin.

“Kolivan,” she said softly. “My love. My mate.”

…Oh.

He was not satisfied after all, Kolivan realized—heat dripped from his jaw to the apex of his thighs. He ducked his head to lick a long, wet stripe over the mating mark on the side of Krolia’s throat. She froze, then shuddered violently.

“Kolivan…”

“I want you.”

“Wow, that’s impressimmpf—” Krolia reached out blindly and shoved her hand into Ilun’s face, who fell back laughing. Kolivan hid his grin in Krolia’s shoulder for about two seconds, before Krolia fell onto him. He curled his legs around her, all the diffuse warmth under his skin converging to the point where he felt her sticky shaft emerging once more. They rolled sideways, until Kolivan landed with his head and shoulders in Ulaz’s lap.

“Should I help you stand again?” Ulaz asked mildly, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Ah, no…” Kolivan wriggled to get comfortable, which made both Ulaz and Krolia moan softly. “This is good.”

Trelleer, who had been resting against Ulaz’s side and had made motions to give up their position, sank back. They slid one hand along Ulaz’s thigh, then curled it below the nape of Kolivan’s neck to steady him. Kalx’s hand clasped his, and Kolivan held tight. Krolia shuffled forward on her knees and lifted his hips with the help of Agdaz and Thace to rest in her lap. Vrek reached over her shoulder and used one long-fingered hand to guide the tip of her shaft into Kolivan’s sheath.

Kolivan’s heartbeat stuttered, and so did everyone touching him.

“Come on, hunter,” Ilun purred into Krolia’s ear. “Make it count.”

* * *

“There’s disinfectant,” Ulaz said. “_Use it_.”

“Yes, _Tava_*,” Ilun mocked, laughing, and he threw the container at her head. Kolivan, along with at least half of the other Blades, raised their hand to catch it as though it had come flying at their own face.

Kolivan lowered his hand again, hiding his smile behind his palm as he watched the Blades, his family, laze in the setting sun. Krolia sat between his legs, leaning into his chest, and drew nonsense patterns along the inside of his knee, purring soft and steady. Ilun made a great production of applying disinfectant to her wounds, then proceeded to bestow the same treatment to everyone else’s surface injuries. Her theatric efforts were hampered, because Agdaz and Trelleer had nestled together with Kalx—on top of them, more precisely—and absolutely refused to get up. Vrek and Thace were only slightly more helpful, until they decided to pull her down to pile into a heap with them.

Ulaz’s shadow fell across Kolivan and Krolia. “That goes for you, too.”

Krolia grumbled and disentangled herself from Kolivan’s embrace; she paused strategically every so often for Kolivan to steal kisses and licks to her throat, cheeks and mouth.

I love you, she signed as she walked backwards in the vague direction of where Ilun was puttering around.

Like the stars, he replied.

Ulaz touched Kolivan’s shoulder. “Come, I’m going to clean you up.”

“The Rites are concluded,” Kolivan pointed out. “You’re not bound as my adjutant anymore.”

Ulaz’s shoulders hunched, then relaxed with rather obvious deliberation. “Regardless.”

Silently, Kolivan joined him. They reached the river quickly enough, and Kolivan could appreciate Ulaz’s invitation. Blood and various other fluids had dried in the fur of his belly and thighs and were starting to become uncomfortable. Not enough that he would have given up his mate’s proximity without prompting, but there was a… growing itch.

The water was cool, but pleasant. Although his heat had softened, Kolivan still felt warmer than usual. He left the ceremonial robe lying on the bank, waiting naked for Ulaz, who didn’t remove a single stitch of his clothes before stepping into the water.

Ulaz scrubbed him down efficiently, using his hands to rub the dirt from Kolivan’s fur. It was no soft caress but gentle regardless, and Kolivan let himself relish the contact. Ulaz wore an expression of careful concentration as he worked, fond and yet tense, and it hooked again into all the affection Kolivan had neither tried nor been able to put away for months. And then there was the fact that Ulaz smelled sweet and heady, like so much unspent lust.

“You didn’t crest once, did you?” Kolivan asked quietly.

Ulaz avoided his gaze. “That was not my goal in this.”

“Ulaz…”

“Do _not_ ask to mount me.”

Kolivan sighed softly, and caught Ulaz’s chin so he could rest his forehead against Ulaz's. “Of course not. But I do wish to touch you. Would you like me to? Or would you rather abstain until you can reunite with Shiro?”

“Leader, you—” Ulaz exhaled noisily. His body shifted towards Kolivan’s. “I can already hear your heartbeat.”

“And…?”

Ulaz closed his eyes. He slid his nose against Kolivan’s in a kiss.

“Please touch me,” he whispered.

With four hands working together, Ulaz’s clothes gave up their prize quickly. The muscles in his belly jumped under the touch of Kolivan’s hand; a chirp fled his throat as Kolivan trailed his claws down further. His shaft filled Kolivan’s palm before too long, and Ulaz clung to Kolivan’s shoulders like he might collapse otherwise.

Kolivan held him close as Ulaz shuddered through his first peak, his shaft pulsing in Kolivan’s grasp. Pulsing with his blood; the throb grew slower and heavier while Kolivan’s heartbeat quickened, meeting in the middle.

“Last time,” Ulaz managed, “did Antok get you like this, too?”

“Yes…” Kolivan slid his other hand around Ulaz’s back and between his buttocks to tease his sheath. Remembered Antok’s huge hand, and tail, sliding between his thighs and making his mind white out with pleasure. “I don’t have his tail, though. Otherwise I imagine you wouldn’t be this coherent.”

Ulaz laughed breathlessly. Spat hoarse curses, when Kolivan fit his fingers in between the ridges of his bloomed shaft and squeezed. His seed leaked over Kolivan’s knuckles before losing itself in the water. Kolivan was sorely tempted to try and see how much he could wring from Ulaz before he was spent, but after the waves of the second climax calmed, Ulaz nudged his hands away.

“Do you have enough already?”

“No, but I can feel Krolia approaching.”

Kolivan dropped his face into the hollow of Ulaz’s throat with a sigh and a smile. He could feel it, too: like a glowing thread that grew brighter and brighter. One of many. Warmth and lust and affection spun into starlight.

Ulaz’s chest rose with a deep breath. “This is what you wanted, huh?”

Kolivan nodded, eyes closing. “I've missed it. I didn't realize how much.”

Their hands found each other, fingers tangling.

“Me, too,” Ulaz agreed quietly. There was silence for a moment, broken only by their contented purring and the rushing of the river.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Obviously,” Ulaz called, a grin in his voice. “I was just about to make a veiled disparaging comment about our Leader’s recent tendency towards recklessness.”

Krolia’s laughter washed like liquid sunlight over Kolivan. He nipped Ulaz’s ear in retaliation for the insubordination, and didn’t let him go yet.

“Would you like to join us, my love?”

“I’d love to, but Ilun's complaining that you're hogging our medic, and you don't even have any injuries.”

Ulaz huffed a small laugh and let go of Kolivan’s hand. “I shall attend to my duties, then.” Krolia held out her hand to help him up the riverbank, and they bumped foreheads in passing. Kolivan watched him go with only a small sting of longing before his attention returned to Krolia, like a planet caught in the gravity of a black hole. She sauntered down the riverbank, the kind of easy, fond smile on her face that made Kolivan’s throat grow tight and his lungs feel too small.

His feet moved without thinking. Touching her again felt like some piece of the world slotting back into place that he hadn’t even been aware had been dislodged. Krolia drew his head down and kissed him, the way humans did. Kolivan wasn’t sure if he would ever understand what humans themselves found so appealing about it, but he loved the careful tenderness it brought out in Krolia. There was something about trusting someone else’s fangs with your soft lips and softer tongue that filled his chest with sweet, sharp heat.

When they parted, they had likely undone half of Ulaz’s cleaning efforts: Krolia was still dirt-smeared, and Kolivan would have rather walked across glass shards than not hold her as tightly as he could.

She nudged the tip of her nose against his; a soft kiss.

"We're going to have a _kit_," she whispered.

"Kittens, maybe."

Krolia giggled, in that sudden, helpless way she had. Kolivan sighed softly, fondness filling up his lungs to spill over from his mouth. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, nuzzling below her ear—and lower, at the mating mark. Krolia’s fingers curled on his shoulders.

"We’re lunatics for doing this, aren’t we."

He gave her an amused look. "You of all people I'd have expected not to have such reservations."

"It was lunacy when I did it, too. I just… I thought I could get away with it."

"You did," he said softly, remembering Keith’s sure grip on her knife, and the softness that stole over his face when he spoke of the other Paladins. “Your cub grew up strong and happy.”

Kolivan cupped Krolia’s face in his hands and bent until her forehead bumped his. “You _did_ get away with it, my love. And so will we.”

Krolia’s answering smile was sharp and blinding, stained blue, like the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Tava = Galran term equivalent to Mom/Dad.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! This story (and all of Rites Verse) is honestly my baby and I'm incredibly happy I can finally share it. You can also find more Rites Verse content on my [main tumblr](https://apfelgranate.tumblr.com/tagged/rites%20verse) or my [art blog](https://edda-grenade.tumblr.com/tagged/rites%20verse).
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it, and again go shower [whiteshadeofpale](https://white-shade-of-pale.tumblr.com/post/187263227875/here-we-are-my-piece-for-the-galrabigbang) with love for their art, we're all greedy feedback gremlins here :D


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